


Fall In Love With Me (This Christmas)

by iknowhowyoukiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS AU, Christmas Fluff, F/M, cs modern au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:59:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9052516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknowhowyoukiss/pseuds/iknowhowyoukiss
Summary: ‘I kissed you thinking we were under a sprig of mistletoe but to my utter dismay, it wasn’t mistletoe. In fact, it wasn’t even a Christmas decoration - doh!’ au





	

**Author's Note:**

> aka '12 Days of Mistletoe' :) Happy Christmas, my darlings! I hope you get everything your precious hearts desire this holiday season! I love you all and I’m so incredibly blessed to have you in my life, in case you didn’t know Xx
> 
> P.S. Special shout out to Sarah (lifeinahole27 on Tumblr) for the prompt and for letting me scream about fic at 3:00 AM in the morning. Oh, and also for the beta duties. You’re a gift, Sarah, thank you for your eyeballs and input and flails!

There isn’t much Emma Swan dislikes more than Christmas, but she supposes that spending her childhood and much of her adolescence bouncing around from foster home to foster home will do that to a person. She’s always been a little embittered about the holidays, particularly the ones that lean towards _family_ and _togetherness_ , and that feeling’s only worsened with each passing year. Even the addition of David and Snow into her life couldn’t erase the lingering ache in her chest and the sour taste in her mouth, especially in December, and they’re two of her best friends and quite possibly the closest thing to family she’ll ever get.

She takes it in stride, though, more often than not indulging their pleas for her to join them for Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, _and_ New Year’s. Halloween and New Year’s are the ones she dislikes the _least_ of the four this last quarter of the year, but still make her grumble nonetheless. Thanksgiving and Christmas, however, always feel like pulling teeth and are the most draining and emotionally exhausting events for her. She does those more to keep them off her back anytime she hints at wanting to spend the holidays alone and to ease the sweet, albeit unnecessary worry from their eyes.

They’re worse than parents, honestly, and it’s the only reason why she agreed to come to their holiday gift exchange anyway. The annual gathering at the Nolan residence takes place a few weeks before Christmas and is one of their biggest get-togethers of the year. Emma always spends a majority of the night sulking over her glass of rum and coke out on the porch by herself, scrunching her nose at all the cheer -- the music and decorations and happy chatter amongst the guests -- and freezing her ass off to boot.

If she drinks enough, perhaps she can drown it all out, have it be just another blur of a day in her memories.

The door swings open beside her, the creaking of its hinges making her turn her head towards the sound. She frowns deeply when she discovers that blue-eyed wonder, resident office flirt, and sexy as sin, Killian Jones, has meandered over to her quiet little spot. Whether to make some small talk or keep her company, she can’t be sure. But she isn’t a fan of either option, or him for that matter -- at least, that’s what she likes to tell herself.

Repeatedly.

“You know,” he starts. “Most people usually mingle at parties.”

“Mmm,” she hums in reply, glancing away and looking out at the yard. “Then you better get to it.”

It’s completely dismissive, but she doesn’t care. She’s unamused by him, by his charisma and good looks, the lilting accent and the _ridiculous_ way his eyebrows seem to have a life of their own. He’s from England, the relatively new kid on the block at work that has the women in her department -- and on the floors above and below theirs -- swooning over him and the dimples in his cheeks. They’ve all shown a fair bit of interest in him in the nine months that he’s been with the company, but he -- much to her annoyance -- has only shown a fair bit of interest in her.

She’s going to kill Snow and David for inviting him to their party.

He doesn’t seem offended by her biting attitude, nor fazed by her obvious lack of desire to engage in conversation, shuffling over and settling beside her on the porch swing.

“They’re not as fun as you,” he tells her. “Certainly not as beautiful. You look stunning tonight, Swan.”

There’s a tiny hitch in her breath, a warmth that blooms in her stomach that she dutifully ignores. “Just tonight?” she wonders, sipping delicately at her drink.

“Every night,” he corrects, leaning over as if sharing a secret with her. “But especially tonight.”

She fixes him with a look, a squinty-eyed ‘quit it with your games’ look. “I’m not in the mood to flirt with you.”

“Well, that’s rather unfortunate, particularly since you’re so good at it.”

She snorts at that -- even laughs a little under her breath, she can’t help herself.

“Ah,” he says, tipping his bottle to her highball glass so they clink noisily together before he takes a pull from his drink. “There it is.”

“What?” she asks, brow arching at him.

“That smile.”

Emma shakes her head and gives him an exasperated look, but the heat behind it is lost with the upwards tug of the corners of her mouth that is impossible to contain when _he’s_ smiling so warmly back at her.

They spend the next hour getting drunk -- Killian thankfully going back inside to sneak out the entire bottle of rum -- and talking. About everything. About nothing. It’s the longest conversation they’ve ever had, and to her endless irritation, she finds him as witty and funny and dashing as the rest of the female population seems to. She supposes she could be stuck with worse.

In another half hour, she wishes she were.

Later she’ll say that it was some combination of liquor, poor judgment and the mistletoe hanging over their heads that had her flirting back with him and throwing a little caution to the wind to grab him by the collar of his shirt so she could drag him against her and fit her mouth neatly over his. Later she’ll insist that it had absolutely nothing to do with the mischief in his eyes or that permanent smirk on his face practically _begging_ to be kissed right off.

But boy does he kiss her right back, particularly when one of her hands reaches up and her fingers thread through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp, and he responds in kind by angling his head to deepen the kiss. He makes some deliciously surprised noise in the back of his throat when she doesn’t miss a beat and her tongue slips between his lips to dip into his mouth.

She wonders what exactly she has to do to get him to make that sound again, but that thought immediately slips from her mind when his teeth scrape over her bottom lip. This time it’s her turn to groan.

He tastes like peppermint and beer, which isn’t the greatest of combinations, but it’s hard to care because she feels so good and he feels so steady. One of them needs to be, and it definitely can’t be her because her knees have gone a little weak. In fact, it’s a damn good thing they’re sitting down because she has a sneaking suspicion that said legs might buckle under her if they _were_ standing.

Thank god he’s steady.

(Thank god his arms come around her at that exact moment and he pulls her in just that much closer so she can feel his heart beating as frantically as hers.)

He inhales through his nose when her tongue brushes insistently against his again, and she’s not really sure what’s gotten into her, but if she’s going to indulge -- if she’s going to break all of her rules about making out with co-workers and just making out with men in general -- she’s going all-in. Killian gasps when they break apart, but presses his hands into her back to keep her close. Not that she’s going anywhere with the way she’s trembling, besides, there’s the matter of the questionable reliability of her legs to keep her upright, so she presses her forehead to his instead, grips his shirt and his hair tighter in her fists and breathes raggedly against his lips.

“That was- um-”

“A one time thing,” she reassures him (or perhaps herself).

“I was going to say ‘unexpected.’”

She takes another breath to calm her frazzled nerves and she can get herself to release him. “Mistletoe,” she mutters, by way of explanation, completely ignoring the way her heart thrums so loudly in her ears that her head feels like it’s going to pop right off and float away. (Don’t even get her started on the staggering amount of desire coursing so quickly through her veins that she’s damn near dizzy with it.)

“What mistletoe?” he wonders.

Her brow furrows at him, eyes narrowing in confusion as she tries to regulate her breathing and clear the fog from around her head. _What the hell is he talking about? The mistletoe_ , she thinks as she glances above them, _clearly hanging over their heads and_ -

Holy shit.

It’s not mistletoe.

It’s not even remotely close to a Christmas decoration.

It’s a fucking stained glass mosaic from a July 4th party David and Snow had thrown not even half a year ago.

_Of the American flag_.

Captain America would be so proud.

Jesus _Christ_ , she needs to get her eyes checked. Badly.

Emma pushes up to her feet, to do what she does best: run. She sways drunkenly from the alcohol, or from his kiss -- it’s hard to say which -- and makes her way towards the door. “I’m going back inside. Don’t follow me, wait five minutes, go get some firewood or something.”

“As you wish.”

His voice is low and gruff, and he sounds as utterly wrecked as she feels. It gives her a small sense of satisfaction, but not much, especially because she’s thinking about how there’s always been an attraction that’s existed between them, an undeniable chemistry since his first day at the office when David had introduced them. She’s gone to great lengths to never allow herself to explore it -- the whole self-preservation thing and all.

See, the problem is that she _likes_ Killian -- not _like_ likes him, she hardly knows him for that -- but they’re connected somehow. Sometimes she looks at him and she can see right through his facade, how deeply kindred they are, and she knows that if she’s being honest, she _could_ feel that way about him, and that makes him dangerous.

She barely makes it three steps inside the house before she spots _real_ mistletoe in the threshold of the kitchen and she’s suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him again.

_Dangerous_ , she reminds herself, oh, and? She really, _really_ fucking hates Christmas.

* * *

She finds the sprig of mistletoe hanging above her coffee cup in the cupboard in the communal kitchen at work on Monday morning, mid-yawn. She blinks in surprise, not really comprehending what she’s seeing as she takes the mug in hand and draws it out. There’s a small slip of paper tucked into the ceramic, a note written in beautiful, looping cursive that she recognizes immediately.

It’s Killian’s.

_Call me Rudolph, because you just sleighed me._

The snort slips past her lips before she can stop it and her hand slaps over her mouth to stifle the sound. She rolls her eyes but folds up the paper and slides it into the pocket of her slacks, reminding herself that she is not so easily charmed.

* * *

The hot dog vendor from the food truck that parks itself outside of their office building every Tuesday hands over her lunch order with a wink and smile. It confuses her until she gets a look at the mistletoe taped neatly to the bag and Killian’s handwriting on an order slip stapled beside it.

_Snow date? I promise I’m not flake-y._

Though she manages to contain her smile, the corner of her mouth still twitches up. It seems he’s hellbent on living up to his reputation for being completely delightful in every way.

* * *

All of the drawers in her desk are always locked, _always_ , so she has absolutely no idea how the hell he managed to sneak mistletoe into the bottom one, but there it is, resting atop her files with it’s cheery red ribbon and attached note.

_Do you work with the elves in the ribbon-tying department? Because you look pretty naughty!_

She groans inwardly at the godawful pun but actively works at preventing her laugh from bubbling up. A rustling noise on the other side of her cubicle draws her attention and when she glances up, Killian is casually strolling by. He gives her a bright smile and a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows before he continues on his way, whistling innocently as he goes. Emma shakes her head and tucks the paper into the side pocket of her purse.

* * *

Thursday’s sprig of mistletoe and accompanying note are hidden between the stack of files Killian passes off to her. She doesn’t find it until much later, though, near the end of a very long day.

_I'd definitely let you join in on my reindeer games._

He’s such a dork, a huge (adorable) dork.

* * *

There’s a park across the street from the office that she frequents, a bench beneath a giant oak tree that she loves sitting at during her breaks. Apparently, Killian knows about it too because on Friday, she spots the mistletoe and piece of paper long before she even makes it to the bench.

_I'm like a Christmas present - you'll love waking up to me in the morning._

She laughs at his absurdity -- a full-body, down-in-the-gut laugh -- and fondly reads over the note again. She imagines he got quite a kick writing out _that_ particular pick-up line.

Later, on her way back up to her desk, she runs into Snow at the elevators who gestures towards the little leaves peeking out from the pocket of her coat.

“What’s that?”

“Killian,” Emma shrugs, then shakes her head at her friend’s curious expression. “Don’t ask.”

* * *

Her weekend was... _off_ , and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why until she walks up to the office bright and early on Monday, and the doorman greets her with a candy cane that the mistletoe is tied to. He smiles at her, passing over a folded up note as well.

Emma sighs, mildly annoyed to discover that she’d not only been missing Killian’s mistletoe antics the last two days, but that she is eagerly awaiting them now. She opens the note as she steps onto the elevator -- _I don’t have a foot fetish, but I’m pretty into mistle-toe_ \-- and snorts so loud that she apologizes to the other passengers when they give her strange looks.

She slips both the note and mistletoe into her coat pocket as she steps off on her floor --

And runs right into Killian.

“Swan,” he greets, hands grabbing onto her shoulders to steady her.

“Killian, hi.”

He studies her for a moment, eyes drifting over every inch of her face, and then the smile blooms on his lips. “Well, you’re looking rather chipper this morning. Any particular reason why?”

She shrugs innocently, sidestepping around him to continue towards her cubicle. “Nope, not a one.”

(She doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s grinning from ear to ear.)

* * *

Emma has to take her car to work on Tuesday, since she has a lunch meeting with some clients across town, and the very last thing she’s expecting when she slides into the driver’s seat is the mistletoe hanging from her rearview mirror and the note taped up beside it.

_Let’s be naughty together and save Santa a trip!_

She’d deck him for breaking and entering if she wasn’t so stinking amused and awed (and flattered) by his tenacity to continue surprising her. _God_.

* * *

On Wednesday, she’s in dire need of some sugar by the 3:00 PM hour and the kitchen is disappointingly devoid of treats -- not a single piece of candy or Christmas cookie in sight. Her next best option is the vending machine, so she snags some change from her wallet and hopes there are still Apollo bars left.

There is one left, in fact, and she is incredibly relieved, mentally pumping her fist as she pops in the correct amount of coins in the machine and watches the bar drop into the take-out port. To her astonishment, when she pulls the chocolate out, it has mistletoe taped to the back and a note slipped between the sleeve and the foil.

_The milk and cookies at my place taste good for breakfast, too._

“Afternoon, Swan! Having a good day?” Killian asks as he walks by her.

She gives him an incredulous look. “How the hell did you-”

“A man’s got to have _some_ secrets, love,” he winks.

Emma shakes her head at his retreating form, but smiles all the way back to her desk.

* * *

It’s storming on Thursday. She’s never been a fan of the cold, let alone the rain, and she is very much _not_ looking forward to going out in it to finish up her Christmas shopping. She grumbles as she steps outside, flinches when she feels something grazing against the top of her head. She glances up out of reflex, thinking she might have a hole in her umbrella, and lets out one amused laugh when she discovers a sprig of mistletoe attached to one of the metal stretchers so it dangles above her head. The note is taped to the inside of the canopy.

_Let’s make out. Again._

He’s nine for twelve on the mistletoe surprises, but the biggest surprise of the evening is that, as she reads the note one more time -- _let’s make out_ \-- she kind of _wants_ to.

* * *

“Hey Emma?”

She glances up to find a pretty brunette named Belle peeking around her cubicle. “Yeah?”

“Killian wanted to make sure you got this before the staff party tonight.”

She passes over a large box and Emma’s brows pinch together.

“He was your Secret Santa,” Belle explains.

Emma shakes her head incredulously, but there’s no heat behind the gesture. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” She’ll have to check with Snow later to see how Killian managed to finagle getting her name from the Santa hat when Snow had gone around a few weeks back to conduct the drawing.

“He asked me to be Santa’s helper today, since he’s out sick.”

Emma frowns at that. “Is he okay?”

“He was running a fever and had some congestion when I stopped by to drop off soup earlier, but otherwise he’s alright.”

“You stopped by his place? I didn’t realize you two were so...close.” She almost slaps a hand over her face when she can’t keep the question from slipping out.

“Not _that_ close,” she answers, and Emma cringes at the reassuring tone in her voice. “Besides, he’s a little over the moon over someone...else.”

“Is he?” she hums noncommittally, despite the very blatant skip of a beat her heart makes. “Well, thanks for dropping this off, Belle. That was really sweet of you.”

Belle smiles brightly, and Emma doesn’t miss the knowing look the other woman directs at her before she goes. She turns her attention back to the present in front of her and one look at the gift wrap has her mouth threatening to twitch into a smile. Even if Belle hadn’t said anything about Killian being her Secret Santa, the mistletoe gift wrapping paper would have given it away, as would have the sprig laid across the tissue inside the box.

She carefully sets it aside and lifts the paper up. There’s a white mug inside, delicately etched with tiny gold swan silhouettes around the rim. She hates to say it, but she loves it, and she also loves that he included all the fixings for the perfect cup of hot chocolate -- complete with cinnamon stick -- and she’s so surprised by that, that she makes a mental note to ask him how he knew _that_ little detail about her.

But what really gets her attention is the 10th Anniversary Edition of the movie _Love, Actually_ and the notecard secured to the DVD by a sparkly, festive green ribbon.

_To me...you are perfect._

She loves that stupid movie. She would never admit it to anyone, but she _does_. She watches it every Christmas Eve with a bottle of wine and big tub of salty popcorn.

Emma sighs, resting her chin in her hand when she props her elbow up on her desk and traces over Killian’s handwriting. He’s such an idiot, a sweet, wonderful, _perfect_ idiot, and she is completely helpless to the growing affection she is quickly developing for him.

She’s so screwed.

* * *

He looks like hell when he answers the door on Saturday afternoon, hair mussed and eyes tired, a thick giant blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“Swan,” he breathes, though with his congestion it sounds more like ‘Swod.’ “What are you doing here?”

“I brought you soup,” she tells him, smiling fondly as she holds up the bag from Panera. “Chicken noodle. Also cough drops, Kleenex, and cold medicine. Just in case.”

“Oh.”

“ _Oh._ ” Her smile widens at his shell-shocked look when she pushes past him into his apartment. Except it’s more like stepping into a dump -- dishes everywhere, clothes strewn across furniture, his shoes askew.

“I- ah- wasn’t expecting anyone,” he tells her sheepishly when she turns to look at him, scratching adorably behind his ear.

“Clearly,” she answers. “Well, why don’t you go sit down, I’ll heat up your soup and clean up a little.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Um. Don’t take this the wrong way, love, but... _why_?”

She steps into his space, canting her head at him and reaching up to give a gentle tug to the end of the blanket he’s hugging around himself. “Because,” she says simply, jerking her head towards the kitchen table. “Now, go on. Sit.”

He doesn’t argue with her after that, but she can feel his gaze on her as she slips out of her jacket and begins bustling around his kitchen. Once she’s got the soup heating up on the stove, she turns towards the mess in his living room. She reaches for his coat, draping it across her arm with the intent to hang it up by the door, but then something falls out of his pocket.

Mistletoe and a small slip of white paper. She stoops to retrieve both items, eyes skimming across Killian’s familiar scrawl. There’s no Christmas joke or pun or innuendo, just honesty so pure it makes her heart squeeze sweetly in her chest.

_I like you. A lot._

She looks up to find him watching her intently.

“I was going to ask you out on Friday. For today. Dinner, a double feature of _A Christmas Story_ and _Home Alone_ at the theater down the street,” he shrugs.

“Oh.”

“ _Oh_ ,” he agrees.

She swallows thickly, fixing him with a steady look. “Do you have Netflix?” she wonders quietly. “We could watch it here.”

Hi blinks at her -- wide-eyed and darling with his pink nose and ears -- and Emma has the complete pleasure of watching his face go unbelievably soft at her suggestion. He doesn’t reply but he nods his head at her. She hides the curving of her lips when she turns her back to him and goes about retrieving soup bowls for two.

* * *

To absolutely no one’s surprise, the innocent ‘sitting beside him’ on the couch while eating quickly turns into innocent ‘cuddling with him’ on the couch while they watch Home Alone and share his blanket.

“I kept them all, you know,” she says, halfway through the movie.

“Kept what?”

“Your notes.”

He pauses a beat, and she can feel him rest his cheek against the top of her head. “Just the notes?”

She can hear the smile in his voice too. “No, not just the notes,” she confesses on a sigh. But she refuses to tell him she’s got all of the sprigs pressed between the pages of the books on her shelves at home. Nope. Absolutely not.

He chuckles into her hair. “I’ve always pegged you for the sentimental type.”

She lifts her head off his shoulder to look at him. “Really? Most people wouldn’t.”

Killian reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear, fingertips trailing lightly down her jaw. “You’re a bit of an open book, love, and you’ve a soft heart.”

She rests her chin atop her hand that’s pressed to his chest. “I have something for you.”

His brow quirks up at that, smiling curving up his lips. “What, like a Christmas present? I’m not sure anything would be better than this.”

In answer, she pushes off of him to sit up and leave the couch, crossing the room to grab a small box from her purse. She takes a deep breath to steady herself, staring at the gold box in her hands and visualizing what rests inside. She turns and walks back towards him before she loses her nerve, joining him on the couch once more then holding out the gift for him to take.

He looks from her to the box and back and she feels her cheeks warm at his surprised, curious look.

“Oh, just open it,” she huffs.

He grins at her, carefully untying the deep red bow before lifting the cover off. His eyes shoot to hers and his expression is so full of happiness and hope it makes her chest ache. She can just make out the green leaves and little white berries, and the festive ribbon she’d tied around them.

There’s a note inside as well, but instead of his looping cursive, it’s her blocky scribble.

_I must be a snowflake, because I've fallen for you._

“I like you, too,” she tells him, voice quiet in the space between them. “A lot.”

He doesn’t reply, simply leans over to close the distance between them so he can kiss her. It’s a soft kiss, unlike the hungry, near-desperate one they’d shared just over twelve days ago. He takes his time, savoring her, breathing her in, tangling his fingers in her hair while he holds her close.

“Apologies, love,” he murmurs when they break apart. “I’m afraid I’ve exposed you to my germs, and with no regrets, I might add.”

She giggles at that, fingertip tracing lightly over the dimple in his cheek. “It’s okay. I took my flu shot already.”

“Oh, good.”

“Yeah,” she replies, breathing out a contented sigh.

“Great.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Wonderf-”

“Killian?”

“Yes, Emma?”

“Just kiss me again, will you?”

“If the lady insists.”

“Oh, she does,” she assures him.

She really, _really_ does, and for the first time in so many years, she starts to feel like maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all.

“Happy Christmas, Swan,” he whispers against her lips.

“Happy Christmas, Killian.”

_Fin_


End file.
